Starting the New Year Right
by Zatsky
Summary: Summary: A drink with a friend and a token of affection help push Foyle to address his feelings for Sam.


Summary: A drink with a friend and a token of affection help push Foyle to address his feelings for Sam.

_A/N: Hi there. I'm a long time reader, first time poster. I began writing this last January after having been hankering for a Christmas Foyle fic. At the time there hadn't been any, but since then, My Madness (Quitting the Hurt) and TartanLioness (The Foyle's War Collection: Kiss) have posted fabulous Christmas stories. Anyhow, I thought I'd give posting a try this Christmas. I've worked on it sporadically and haven't finished the whole thing. But maybe posting will help me get the rest written._

_The setting is just after Bleak Midwinter. At the time I started writing, that was as far as I had viewed. I wish I hadn't seen subsequent episodes because I was disappointed with developments with Kieffer._

Starting the New Year Right

Christopher Foyle tied the bow for the third time, trying to make the loops and ends even. He had wanted to get Sam something for Christmas. His first thought was food but with this bloody rationing going on, there was precious little extra to be had. He figured freeing the turkey from the evidence room and making sure she was able to take part was the best he could do. But he still wanted to _give_ her something to let her know he appreciated her.

He did more than appreciate her. Over the course of several months and several significant events he realized he was in love with her. But he wasn't about to let her know that. At least he didn't think so. However, talking with John the night before, Christmas Eve, had made him begin to think differently.

"Christopher! Come in. Merry Christmas." Capt. Kieffer shook Foyle's hand and offered to hang up his coat and hat. "Have a seat."

"Thank you. Happy Christmas to you as well."

"Well I guess it's as happy as two lonely guys can get at Christmas time." Foyle had not considered himself lonely per se. This was pretty much the usual for him these past few years, since the initial shock of losing Rosalind. But he guessed for John, being so far from home, was terribly lonely. And now that he mentioned it, he was really missing Andrew, and if he were honest, Sam most of all. As he reflected on this, John handed him a glass of whiskey and continued.

"This is the first time I've been away from my wife on Christmas since before we were married. And it won't be the same without the kids bouncing on the bed before the sun's fully up."

"Well, my son hasn't bounced me out of bed in quite some time. This year he's spending his Christmas with a…ah, friend near his RAF base."

"Well, at any rate, here's to those we love," Kieffer said as he raised his glass to Foyle.

Foyle raised his in return and drank thinking somewhat sadly of Rosalind, with loving exasperation of Andrew and then to Sam, who along with Milner, had really become his family these past few months.

"What about Miss Stewart?" Kieffer interrupted his thoughts. Foyle raised his eyes and scrutinized his friend wondering how he might have known he was thinking of Sam.

He played nonchalance. "Yes, what about Miss Stewart?"

"Well, why aren't you spending Christmas with her?"

"Because she's my driver and half my age at that," Foyle shot back.

"She might be your driver but she doesn't really work for the police force," John said trying to nullify Foyle's arguments. "She's in the military."

It was a thin argument, but one he had thought of as well, trying to work things out in his mind. What still always kept him from pursuing any relationship, if she would have it, was the age difference.

Once again, as if he knew what Foyle was thinking, Kieffer added, "And don't even make this about age or it might become personal."

Foyle gave him a quizzical look, not understanding where this was going.

"My wife's 12 years younger than me," Kieffer explained, picking up on his friend's apprehension. "She's my best friend's kid sister. Since she was three, she followed us around. After years in our company, she could bate a hook, swing a baseball bat or slide into second base as well as any of us. I went away for college, got my advanced degree, worked and traveled a bit before going back home to find she had grown into a smart, mature and beautiful woman. It was no surprise to her that I should fall for her. We were already such good friends. And she knew I respected her and would take care of her. She also reminded me that she could still swing a mean bat, if need be."

Foyle conjured up an image of Sam holding a rubbish bin lid over his dazed runaway suspect. He smiled inwardly but gave his friend a guarded look, considering his story but wondering what the intent was.

"What I'm trying to say, is that our marriage works because of friendship and trust and from that comes love. I see that same friendship and trust between you and Miss Stewart."

Christopher was appreciative of the man's candor. And he was grateful to have a friend that wasn't so intimately aware of the life of Christopher Foyle─widower, single father, no-nonsense police officer. Most people he was friendly with had known Rosalind and never spoke to him about anything other than his devotion to her. Even after this long time. He loved Rosalind and always would but the war had begun to make him see the fragility of his own life and the lives of those he cared about. And he wanted to hold onto that more than he wanted to be alone.

Even still, he couldn't help but play devil's advocate in his own case. "But you had so much history with your wife. You grew up together."

"And you don't, serving out this war together. How many times have either of you been nearly killed in this damn thing?" he asked pointedly. He didn't expect Foyle to answer but to think. "You don't think that gives you history?"

Foyle pursed his lips and thought of all the times he and Sam had been in harm's way, and how the other was always there for comfort when it was over. He was so tired of almost losing her and having her not know how he felt. He had gone out on as much of a limb as he was willing at the time by telling her she was invaluable when she was so ill from the Anthrax. He made a joke of the driving with the "Can't go anywhere without you" comment but inside he was sick with the realization that he truly couldn't go on without her.

"But she deserves someone her own age," he persisted.

"Look, she turned down that poor kid Farnetti. He's a good kid, despite the jocularity. She seems to know her mind. And I say you might have played into her decision." Foyle gave him an exasperated look.

"Just give her a chance. You can't do any worse than he did."

"Yes, but he's young and can take a bruising better. I might not."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Christopher." It was Kieffer's turn to be exasperated. "You can make arguments 'til the cows come home. But do you realize that during this whole conversation and all your arguments, you never once refuted the idea that you love her?"

It was true. He couldn't argue that. He did love her. She had set up shop in his heart and his mind. The other day he was quite shocked to hear himself say "Jolly good." He had never said jolly good in his entire life, not even as a kid. She caught him too and gave him a wry smile. It felt good; he felt happy in her presence. He liked her influence on him.

The day before that, he too hastily said Stewart in response to a witness comparing his suspect to a Hollywood actor from gangster movies. She could only come up with Jimmy and he immediately replied Stewart. Of course Jimmy Stewart wasn't a gangster type. He was the tall, thin comedic romantic, just like his funny, reliable, lovable Sam. The woman had looked at him peculiarly before she was able to come up with Cagney. Thank goodness Milner or Sgt. Brook wasn't there. They would have seen it for what it was-a slip up from a man who was a bit too preoccupied with his subordinate.

Kieffer cut into his thoughts once again. "Look, I can see you've been thinking about this a lot. I can see the gears turning in your head. It doesn't need that much thought, friend…"

_Easy for you to say_, Foyle thought. He had always been pensive and cautious with his words and actions.

"…If you love her—and you must because the police officer in you would have ordered a cease and desist on this conversation—then you need to tell her. If it doesn't work out, you can always come commiserate with me and Jack here," he said nodding to the bottle of Jack Daniels that curiously always seemed to be in good supply.

Foyle remained quiet.

"Look, I'm just a guy lonely for his wife. If I can keep you from the same lonely fate, I'll do what I can. Being with her right now would be a much finer way of spending your Christmas than with this sad sack," he pointed to himself.

Foyle released his cheek from his teeth to respond. "At this point, John, I would have to agree." Kieffer smiled. "But I make no promises. I don't think I'll even be able to see her 'til Monday."

"Well maybe I can give you some incentive to see her. My wife sent me this." He handed a record to Foyle. "White Christmas hits a little too close to home right now and I don't think I can bear to listen to it again. Maybe you could give it to Miss Stewart. It's been top of the charts for weeks now. If she's like my wife, she'll love it."

"Right," Foyle hesitated biting his lip again. He had never been a huge fan of Bing Crosby but he could sure see Sam liking him.

"I never took you for the sentimental sort, John. This is a whole new side to you," he added dryly. "But I do appreciate your company and your candor. And as always your whiskey."

"My pleasure. You'll let me know how it goes?" Foyle gave him a look that said 'don't bet on it.' And with that, stood up and retrieved his hat and coat.

"Hey, before you give it to her, take a listen to the B side."

Once again, Foyle surveyed the man wondering just what he was on about. But again, he enjoyed the man's company and felt he was honest and heartfelt.

As he started down the hallway, he heard the captain call, "Wanna go fishing soon."

"Yep," he replied without stopping.

"I'll want a full report," he called again.

"Nope." Foyle heard the man chuckle.

If anyone else had pushed him this hard, he would have been angry and evasive. But once again, he found he liked having a peer to talk with. It had been too long. But it made him feel lighter. Burdens shared, if you could call loving Sam a burden. Despite himself, Foyle smiled.


End file.
